


When You Come Falling [I'll Be Here]

by DeathjunkE



Category: Breaking Bad
Genre: Angst and Feels, Canonical Character Death, Charity Auctions, Drugs, Emotional Abuse, F/M, Feels, Gen, I Don't Even Know, More like drabbles, Nonlinear time line, Tragic Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-08
Updated: 2013-02-08
Packaged: 2017-11-28 15:48:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/676138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeathjunkE/pseuds/DeathjunkE
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jesse walked into Bed Bath and Beyond the bright colors caught his eye. The buttercup yellow sheets were bright and different and looked like nothing he’d ever slept on before. He grabbed a matching lamp off the shelf  besides the sheet sets and and hefted the burgundy comforter from the clearance section into the cart.</p><p>He’d build a home of his own, and he’d never have to leave it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When You Come Falling [I'll Be Here]

**Author's Note:**

  * For [waltzmatildah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/waltzmatildah/gifts).



> First of all, Waltzmatildah, thank you for being so patient and giving me a wonderful prompt to work with. I want to let you know that i will either a) write more of this pairing in another story or b) make you art so that i can complete your auction piece. This isn't 5K and wouldn't grow no matter how hard i fight with it. so just know I'm not done with this (or you)
> 
> Also the title is from I'm gonna wait by the Temper Trap, which is whai wrote this story to. so yeah, enjoy :)

\---  
“I love you.” Jane whispers into his mouth as they grapple on the mattress. the bright yellow sheets tangling their legs and the light from outside warming their skin.

“Don’t say that.”

Loving him was like fight club. You don’t talk about that shit, and if you did it killed you. the only other person who did died, slow and painful.

 

\---  
She’s so cold and covered in vomit that Mike won’t let him clean.

Jesse sat shell shocked on the bed as Mike moved through the apartment clearing out the needles, the heroin, the money anything questionable. He run through responses but Jesse doesn’t care —he can’t care.

 

\--  
Mom preferred dark wood furniture, heavy, clunky, antique and luxurious.  
Aunt Jenny’s guest room had been done up in the taste of one of her ex-girlfriends. The walls had been painted a deep calming sage with tan detailing and brown and coral floral prints.

When Jesse walked into Bed Bath and Beyond the bright colors caught his eye. The buttercup yellow sheets were bright and different and looked like nothing he’d ever slept on before. He grabbed a matching lamp off the shelf besides the sheet sets and and hefted the burgundy comforter from the clearance section into the cart.

He’d build a home of his own, and he’d never have to leave it.

 

\---  
Aunt Jenny’s hair hangs in stringy patches. She shoves the clipper into his hands and asks him to make her beautiful.

“You already are.” Jesse says.

She cries, and cries, and cries, and cries, and cries and tells him he’s a good boy and his parents are morons if they can’t see it.

 

\---  
Jane was something like he’d never seen before.

Oh sure, Jesse knew lots of chicks who dress like goths, and he also knew lots of women. but not a single one like Jane. She’s pretty, she’s smart she’s got it together and she’s funny.

She probably won’t give him the time of day.

He’s fucked up and broken, and just not okay anymore, but he tries anyway.

 

\---  
Wendy sucks on her cig and lets the smoke eke through her nostrils. Jesse thinks its a shame. she used to be pretty —a long time ago, but she’s still beautiful. She’s been raped, mugged, addicted, arrested— she’s vulgar, used, set in her ways, and trashy but she’s loyal, and kind, and brave and someone Jesse wants to take care of

“I didn’t know you cooked anything, but meth.”

He slides the plate of chicken parmigiana in front of her and leaves six baggie of Heisenberg Blue besides it.

“Don’t get shit from the dealers. If you need more you tell me Wendy.”

 

 

\---  
Aunt Jenny was a dancer.

She had been a good one too, she had been in ballets all over the world from New York to Moscow. She sent him postcards from everywhere. They were usually silly little saying for tourist and snapshots of the most famous attractions. He had never met her but she sent the best gifts on his Birthday and Christmas and those just because dates.

She sent pictures and candy from where ever she was along with letters and a small trinket, keychains, sea shells, a bottle cap from a special soda they only served in some obscure far off land. Every package no matter how big or small was a treasure, an adventure.

He wasn’t so good at writing so he took pictures of the things here in New Mexico things that he loved. things that he wanted her to see and sometimes even pictures of himself, what he ate for dinner or maybe even the violin his parents insisted he learn to play. He sent them to her Dance Company.

“Jesse, stop wasting my money.” His dad grumbled one day. “Film is expensive, shipping to New York is expensive and for this nonsense? We need to eat boy.”

“Aunt Jenny sends me stuff all the time... I want to send her stuff too.”

“Jenny is globe trotting, she’s got something to send, something to say.” He father grumbled as he shuffled through the photos Jesse had brought home from the pharmacy, “There’s nothing here for her to see, nothing she cares about. Nothing that a ten year old finds interesting at least.”

 

\---  
When he pulls out a batch a blue and the Mexicans start clapping, he smiles.  
It’s a hollow accomplishment, but he’s still alive so he will mark it down as a win.

Mike claps him on the shoulder, and he feels a little something.

 

\---  
Mom hit Lotto.  
Dad says he wants a new car, with better features.  
Mom says she wants a new house, with richer neighbors.

Jesse says he wants to go home, but they act like they can’t hear him.

 

\---  
Mrs. Carter, the 8th grade teacher, suggested moving him to the special education english classes, maybe working with a reading therapist and having an IEP written up. Jesse looked at the floor during the meeting not wanting to see the embarrassment written across his mother’s face.

Stupid, Lazy, Unmotivated...

There were more but he heard these the most. And just maybe, Jesse supposed, his parents were right after all. There wasn’t much that he could really do. He had never been particularly good at anything. Reading was hard, writing was harder and math made sense but only until they started adding letters into that shit, then it was all just one giant cluster fuck.

 

\---  
He covers the graffiti with white primer, then with paint. The living room stays that crisp white but he paints his bedroom sunset orange, the bathrooms are lavender, and the kitchen is all chrome and glass the guest bed room he paints green, the basement he paints brown.

Nothing in his house is blue.  
He fucking hates blue.

 

\---  
Jane pulled the plunger back slowly, carefully getting every drop from the bottom of the spoon. She was so attentive, so gentle as she tied the torniquete and found his vein. Jesse tried to stay still as she pierced his skin with the hypodermic but it hurt.

“Shhh... It’s okay, it’s just for a second. You see, I’m done.”

His vision started to wavier but his skin felt twice as much. Jesse felt the warmth and the creases of her lips as she kissed his cheeks, his forehead and his mouth. The heat of her body was a comfort as she reached behind him and propped him up on pillows.

“On your side baby, you don’t want to choke if you throw up.”

 

\---  
Aunt Jenny Moved to New Mexico from Wyoming when he was twelve. She brought a house and came by for Sunday dinners and talked with Jesse. She asked him what his favorite show was, what he was doing in school, what sports he liked to play, if he had any friends what he liked to do had he ever seen a real live play or ballet?

Aunt Jenny was the best. She smiled and takes him to movies and plays and workshops at the community center where they made mugs out of clay.

He gave the mug to his mom. She smiled, said “how nice” and never used it not even to hold pencils.

Jesse gave the mug to Aunt Jenny. She never drank her tea out of anything else.

 

\---  
Jane smiled at him.

His joke wasn’t funny but she smiled anyway.

 

\---  
It was easier to just not think about it. To not go to school to not be surrounded by people who clearly knew all this shit and thought it was fucking pie.

 

\---  
They had another baby. They named him Jake, but that’s not what they call him.  
Dad calls it his little prodigy. Mom called it their second chance.

Aunty Jenny called them stupid and took Jesse home to her house. They ordered in pizza with toppings they never tried before and watched a Tom and Jerry Marathon.

 

\---  
Jane scraped her thumb over the the medallion she always played with. working it between her fingers and wearing down whatever it said. He didn't particularly care if she had a good luck charm or not, he just wanted to know why she didn't have any ink if she was a tattoo artist.

“I... Needles...”

“You’re afraid of needles? Seriously?”

“I’m not afraid of them, i just... I need to keep away from them.”

 

\---  
The kid only has on underwear and and a dirty t-shirt.  
His skank mom killed his dad and, oh god—

“Have a good rest of your life, kid.” He means it, he really does.

 

\---  
Jane watches him sleep sometimes.

Jesse doesn't mind all that much. It’s not like she plans on killing him while he’s out for the count. she draws him when he’s asleep and still and she doesn’t want him to see her sketches but he does anyway. He flips through her sketch book every time she climbs in the shower. wanting to see what it was holding her attention when it wasn’t turned on him.

 

\---  
Mom told him not to wander to this side of town. the people were supposed to be poor and classless. And yeah, they didnt have all the fancy shit and no one had a pool and sometimes there would be six people crammed in a two room house but they minded their own business mostly and left him alone.

Most of the time anyway, “I’m Brandon.”

“I’m not interested,” Jesse looked straight ahead and kept chucking pebbles at the the dead pigeon.

“Don’t be that way... you’re here everyday, So am I. We should be friends.”

“We should be friends? What are you six?”

“No I’m 15. Seriously man, let’s be friends. You’ll be in my band and it will be awesome”

“Fuck off, quit badgering me.”

 

\---  
Aunty Jenny was someone he knew but had never seen, but she was still his favorite.

“You’re eight now, right Jess?”

“Mm-hmm” He pressed the phone to his ear eagerly awaiting her next words.

“What’s your favorite color?”

“Blue!”

 

\---  
“When I wandered alone over the beach, and undressing, bathed, laughing with the waters, and saw the sun rise.”

Jane’s voice is smooth and melodic and even though he’s not stoned he feels like he is. She’s soothing, calming and makes Jese remember better times. It’s been so long since someone read to him.

He hopes she never stops reading, never stops petting his hair because as soon as she does, he’ll remember that Combo is dead.

 

\---  
“Yo, you got any of that blue shit left?” pete asks as they lounge on the floor of his new place.

“fuck off Pete, I’m not doing that shit anymore.”

 

\---  
Gorgia Okeefe and her fucking doors.

He doesn’t get it. To this day he really doesn't get it. Can't understand it. But so long as Jane was happy, it was good. That was the first time he’d ever been on a date. All things considered, it seemed like it went well.


End file.
